


Lost Dreams

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Bittersweet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unhappy But Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: Fëanor is not the Curufinwë Finrod wants to take his anger out on, nor is he the one Finrod loves.He is, however, the one in the Halls with Finrod and willing to repay Finrod for his son's actions, through any means.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Past Finrod/Curufin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	Lost Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a 100 words of "if it helps, take it out on me" thread on FFA.

"You stalk these halls like a wraith, Ingoldo. Did you intend to scare your brothers, or was it an unintended accident as you screamed at Nolofinwë?" A voice intruded upon Finrod's private thoughts, startling him.

Finrod snarled as he turned to face Fëanor. "I do not wish to speak to you."

Fëanor smirked, looking even more like Curufin than normal.

Finrod's temper worsened at the sight, remembering the last time he had seen that same look.

"And yet speak we will," Fëanor said. "Your grandfather is concerned that you will never be allowed to leave these Halls if you do not move past your anger."

"And because your father said something, you jump to aid me. Leave, Uncle." Finrod turned to walk away.

"Nay." Fëanor grabbed his shoulder.

Finrod tensed. "Let go of my shoulder, Uncle."

Fëanor shook his head. "I have seen the tapestries depicting you and my son." At Finrod's startled look, he continued. "Do not worry, no others have seen them."

"Then you know that your son took me into his bed as a plaything, led me to believe he loved me, and then when I left to fulfill my own oath, tried to take my kingdom from my brother," Finrod said, pulling his arm free. "Would you like me to recount more of my humiliation for you, or did you simply wish to remind me of it?"

"I have seen you look at me," Fëanor said after a moment. "You are angry at the world in general, but specifically at Curufinwë. You have one Curufinwë before you."

Finrod laughed. "And? Do you wish to remind me that as long as we are both here, I shall never be free of him?"

Fëanor shook his head, a serious expression on his face. "Nay. If it helps you, I would have you take your feelings out on me."

Finrod froze, neither moving nor speaking in the silence that followed.

Fëanor waited patiently.

"I cannot," Finrod finally said.

"Why not? I offer myself freely." Fëanor nodded towards the door. "Did you think it a coincidence that I choose a private area for this conversation?"

"You do not know what I would wish to do," Finrod said.

"We are already dead, it is unlikely you can throw me into the void on your own." Fëanor's lips quirked upwards. "And again, I saw the tapestries."

Finrod looked at him again. "You wish me to believe that you would allow me to do as I wish? What if I wish to tie you up and have my way with you, embarrass you before all in these Halls?"

"You would not wish your brothers to see such, or risk Nolofinwë and your grandfather interfering," Fëanor said.

Finrod silently admitted he was right.

"But the rest - if my son was here, you would wish to take him roughly. Repay every hurt he has given you with his own, until you can forgive him. But you would not use him in such a way, because he would not offer such and you would not ask." Fëanor's lips quirked again. "I do offer myself."

"You do not know what you offer." Finrod's muscles tensed.

"Show me," Fëanor said.

It sounded like Curufin's normal drawled orders in bed. Finrod moved forward, grabbing Fëanor's arms and pinning him to the wall. "This is your last opportunity to leave."

"Do you think you can scare me, Ingoldo?" Fëanor drawled. "Use me as you wish."

'Curufin, he even sounds like Curufin,' Finrod thought, crowding his uncle against the wall and kissing him.

Fëanor moaned as Finrod's nails ran down his sides, leaving pink marks on flesh as Finrod tore his uncle's shirt off.

Finrod was not sure if his uncle moaned in pleasure or from pain. He was equally unsure about which he preferred.

"Should you not take your own clothes off as well?" Fëanor panted when Finrod pulled back.

"Not by myself. You will strip me, gently and lovingly," Finrod said, expecting an argument. Curufin would have-

"Of course," Fëanor said, inclining his head in agreement. "But you must let go of my hands if I am to do so."

Finrod released his hold.

Fëanor made quick work of Finrod's shirt, discarding it on the floor.

When he reached Finrod's trousers he slowed, pulled them down just far enough to expose Finrod's cock.

Then he knelt on the ground in front of Finrod, pulling the trousers down the rest of the way while keeping his head level with Finrod's cock.

"Suck it," Finrod finally said, as precum splattered against his stomach.

Fëanor nodded, licking up the bottom of Finrod's cock before swallowing it.

Curufin had seldom done so. Finrod thrust forward, nearly gagging Fëanor before he was able to relax his throat.

"I wish," Finrod panted, "I had been able to keep your son as quiet."

Fëanor did not respond except to suck harder.

Finrod felt his orgasm building and jerked back.

A bit of precome mixed with saliva landed on Fëanor's face at the movement.

Finrod took a breath at the sight. "Put whichever of our clothes are least likely to show stains on the floor, and lie down on them."

Fëanor nodded, grabbing several pieces of clothes turned inside out and arranging them in a pile, which he then sat upon, balancing on his arms as he leaned back.

Finrod spat into his hand, feeling around Fëanor's ass before shoving a finger in, followed by another one.

Fëanor gasped, flinching at first.

Finrod paused. "Do you wish to stop?"

"Nay- just- I am fine. Take me, Ingoldo. Now." Fëanor spread his legs as he panted.

"Uncle-" Finrod began.

"Of all things, I had not taken you as one unsure of his decisions, Ingoldo," Fëanor said.

It was similar, too similar, to the last thing Curufin had spat at Finrod in their last private discussion.

Finrod pulled his fingers out, quickly rubbing more spit onto his cock before shoving into his uncle.

Fëanor let out a sharp cry.

Finrod slowed, but did not stop. Fëanor settled into a series of softer gasps and pants.

"Curufin," Finrod moaned as he neared his peak.

"Ingoldo," Fëanor responded, meeting his eyes and smiling like Curufin did. "Will you not come within me? Do you not wish to make me yours?"

Finrod could not help but imagine it was Curufin saying such. Curufin, who may have loved Finrod as much as his Oath, one day.

With that, Finrod came, come filling Fëanor.

Fëanor came soon after.

Finrod closed his eyes, listening to the quiet gasps. This was not Curufin. Curufin was never this quiet.

But Fëanor loved his son enough to do this. Finrod took a deep breath, feeling his anger leave.

"I am sorry, Uncle," Finrod said, rolling to his side on the floor as he pulled out. "I should not have been so rough."

"It is fine, Ingoldo, I gave you permission to do so." Fëanor looked at him. Finrod felt as though Fëanor was looking through him, seeing all the thoughts Finrod could not put into words. "Are your thoughts settled now?"

Finrod bit his lip. "Yes."

"Good. Námo will be pleased when you can leave these Halls." Fëanor stood, picking his clothes off the floor and dressing, ignoring the stains on the inside of his shirt.

"I should not have used you like this. You are not Curufin," Finrod said.

"No," Fëanor said. "But Curufin may never be able to give you an apology, Ingoldo. I would not have you leave us without one, especially when your anger is what keeps you here."

"He may not. Curufin may remain alive in Beleriand until the end, and I will be in Valinor once more. Still, I would not have chosen to risk causing problems for you upon your eventual return, or if your sons are permitted to return with them." Finrod picked up his own clothes.

There was silence in the room. Finrod looked up to see his uncle watching him. "Uncle? Are you well?"

Fëanor's smile turned strange at that question, Finrod noted.

"You do not have to worry on my behalf. I shall not leave these Halls before the end of days." Fëanor walked closer to Finrod. "You shall be free to move on as you wish."

"What? Uncle, they may still fulfill the Oath. The Valar said our laments would not reach them, and yet they sent the eagle for Maedhros, " Finrod said immediately, struggling to accept the conversation's turn.

"Even if they reclaim the two still on Morgoth's crown, there is now one in Doriath. Elwë will not give it to them, not with his daughter mortal and you dead for it," Fëanor responded, dropping his smile. "It will not end well, Ingoldo."

Finrod looked at him, as dread formed in the pit of his stomach. "I did not intend- even at my angriest at Curufin and Celegorm I did not wish-"

"It is a problem of my own making, Ingoldo, there is no reason for your guilt." Fëanor lifted Finrod's chin to look at his eyes. "Tell Námo you are willing to be reborn. Once you are, live your life without thinking of this."

"I cannot," Finrod said, looking back. "I have never forsaken anyone."

"I am not yours to forsake, Ingoldo. I am doomed to remain here with your grandfather, and I will content myself with his company when he grants it." Fëanor's expression did not waver. "I may only hope that my sons do not enter these Halls as well."

Finrod shook his head. "I am not yours to command to obey your wishes, in this case. I shall not forget this."

Fëanor laughed. "Nay, but you cannot fight an oath. If you wish to do anything, you may tell my mother and Nerdanel that I am sorry. You may tell your father that his father is proud of him, and from myself you may tell him that I understand his choices."

"I will," Finrod said. "And then I shall find some way to argue for your freedom."

Fëanor did not answer, but instead kissed Finrod. This kiss seemed more desperate, a goodbye and abandonment for hope instead of his attempts to remind Finrod of another.

When they finished, Fëanor vanished through the door without speaking.

Finrod did not follow. It was time to find Námo.


End file.
